


Hale Sea

by hazelandglasz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awful Puns, Derek Cooks, Flirting, I'm Not Ashamed, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3129368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fifionline requested : "Sterek + I work late a lot and your restaurant is the only that delivers at 2 AM AU" and I ran with it !</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hale Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fifionline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fifionline/gifts).



Stiles cracks his neck as he keeps on typing.

Damn Finstock.

Fuck Greenberg.

To Hell with Whittemore in particular.

“Aaaargh!” Stiles screams in the empty and dark office as the colons don’t add as they should, yet again.

It’s not his fault if they all messed up their reports, is it now?

So why is he the only one still working at fucking 2 in the fucking morning to save their collective ass for the annual report Deaton is expecting on his desk tomo—well, later in the morning?

So fucking unfair, Stiles groans to himself, softly hitting his head onto the desk.

Just because he’s pissed off and tired doesn’t mean he aims for a concussion.

Just when Stiles closes his eyes to ponder the merit of actually getting a concussion to get out of this pile of shit he calls a late working session, his stomach decides to contribute to his internal debate.

As in, a low, steady grumble comes from his belly and Stiles is suddenly forced to remember that his last meal was twelve hours ago, with just a Coke break in the afternoon as he started unraveling the whole mess.

Dammit.

Maybe that’s why he can’t make the Excel colons work, it’s because his brain is working on an empty tank.

Luckily, he has the solution.

A smile slowly spreads on Stiles’ lips as he opens his drawer, filled with different leaflets from the restaurants that deliver in the area.

He puts back the ones that are long closed—too bad, he would have loved a good curry—until he only has two left in his hands.

“Alpha Packing Meat”, because they make pretty awesome burgers and delicious spicy curly fries, but Stiles is scared shitless of their delivery guys.

And “Hale Sea”, the veggie and fishies place around the corner with delicious tuna steak salads and amazing tofu burritos that made Stiles see angels, but Stiles is scared shitless of their delivery guy.

Singular.

Always the same, grumpy guy, that Stiles—under other circumstances and more amenable dispositions—would have loved to climb like a sequoia, who looks at the mess on Stiles’ desk like it personally offends him.

That, or it’s the picture of him with Lydia and Allison that he keeps on his desk to remember why he’s slaving away, why they’re always slaving away in jobs beneath their abilities and brain power—to save enough money that the four of us can open their library that would cater to every child’s needs: Braille books, art therapy, books to learn English or different languages, books to learn about gender and sexuality without taboo or stigma …—but there is literally no reason for Dark and Sexy to glare daggers at the picture, is it?

Anyway.

In one case, fat, greasy food and scared shitless that he’s going to get murdered.

In the other, fresh, balanced food and scared-aroused.

That settles it.

“ _Hale Sea after dark, this is Cora speaking_.”

“Hey, Cora.”

“ _Stiles! ‘S been a while!_ ”

“I know, I know. Listen, you guys are still delivering?”

“ _Of course. D is at the ready to cook the snook of your choice_.”

“Dee?” Stiles repeats, wondering if Dark and Sexy’s name actually starts with that letter or if it’s just the name of the cook, while D&S is the restaurant’s delivery boy—would make sense too, the owners would guarantee that their delivery boy wouldn’t get attacked.

“ _Derek, the chef—but you must have seen him, he’s always the one who delivers at your offi—hmph!_ ”

“Cora?!”

“ _Hello, Stiles_.”

“He-hello?”

“ _This is Derek. Your usual?_ ”

“My usu—is Cora okay?”

“ _Yeah, yeah, she’s fine, she just had … something to do. Your order?_ ”

Over the phone, Derek’s grumpiness sounds even sexier that his hunky physique, and Stiles didn’t think that it was possible. Actually, it doesn’t sound … grumpy, at all.

It sounds deep and … almost flirtatious—or it’s the 2 AM empty stomach talking.

“Oh right, my order,” Stiles says, focusing for a moment on the menu before frowning at the phone. “What do you mean, my usual?”

Stammer is heard over the line and if Stiles didn’t know any better—as in, that Derek hates his guts—he would swear that he caught him in a moment of embarrassment.

“ _I mean that we don’t have, um, a lot of customers that require delivery after midnight and that you left an impression._ ”

Before Stiles can comment—or tease, or squeal in delight—Derek clears his throat. “ _Your order! Your order left an impression!_ ”

Stiles smiles at the receiver.

Okay, he was completely wrong about Mr. Dark and Sexy.

Derek is actually a ball of nerdy fluff—still climbable like a tree, but a ball of fluff nonetheless.

“I’ll take the noodles and salmon, please,” he says, which is his usual.

“ _Do you want a side of bok choi?_ ” Derek asks and Stiles moans into the phone.

“God, yes,” he replies, before being hit by inspiration. “And what is your favorite dish?”

A moment of silence, broken by the obvious kitchen background noises. “ _ **My**  _ _favorite dish?_ ”

“Yeah, what do you like on your own menu?” Stiles insists, and Derek makes a thoughtful noise.

“ _I guess I am partial to the noodles myself,_ ” he replies, and Stiles would bet his savings that there is a smile on his face. “ _With chili turkey._ ”

“Can you make one portion of that too?”

“ _Sure. You hungry?_ ”

“Not that much, just inviting you to join me for a dinner under the neonlight?”

Stiles can’t really help the way his voice tilts into a question at the end, because his nerves caught up with him.

They sound a lot like Lydia, actually.

**_Are you nuts?_ **

**_What were you thinking?_ **

**_Now you’re going to have to find somewhere else to eat healthily!_ **

**_Think about the tofu, Stiles!_ **

And then Derek sighs into the phone. “ _I’ll decide for the dessert, then._ ”

Stiles is this close to just squeal and let Derek know how his words are affecting him, but he manages to rein it in.

He totally does.

“See you in a bit, then?”

“ _Avec joie._ ”

Stiles stays with the phone in his hand for a couple of minutes, stunned by the improbable turn his night has taken.

Smoothest date-score, ever.


End file.
